


Belgisches Bier ist Sehr Gut

by sadlygrove



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Drinking Games, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-04-18
Updated: 2011-04-18
Packaged: 2017-10-18 08:03:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,983
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/186731
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sadlygrove/pseuds/sadlygrove
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Five nights with a different delicious Belgian brew.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Belgisches Bier ist Sehr Gut

**Author's Note:**

> Written for 's winning prompt of these three just getting together and having a good ol' time. ...with beer. I have no idea how to write Belgium, as she hasn't been in any of the comics, so I hope this is passable. Belgian readers, I really really want to eat mosselen-friet and try these beers some day. They sound AMAZING.

**On a Tuesday with Abbaye St. Martin**

"Never have I ever been... skinny dipping."

"Oh, come on!" Prussia took another chug of his beer, scowling at Belgium from across the table as if she were the most evil woman in the universe. "How the fuck have you gone through life without getting butt naked and--"

"Believe it or not, some people have common decency," Germany muttered, pointedly  _not_  taking a sip of his own drink. Belgium wondered for a moment if he'd ever been naked a day in his life; Germany probably came out of his mother's womb in a three piece suit.

"I'm going to run out of Abbaye at this rate," Belgium muttered, even though it was a dirty lie. Her basement was full of it, and other delicious brews. No need for anyone to know, however. "Your turn, Prussia."

"Never have I... Fuck, what  _haven't_  I done?" Prussia rubbed his chin, eyes going a little cross. "Oh! Never have I ever eaten a pear!"

Belgium started. "What."

"I've never eaten a pear!"

She turned to Germany, who was already taking a swig of beer. "Is he being serious?"

"Gilbert does not like fruit."

"How the hell do you even eat a pear; where do you even start?" Prussia snorted. "The top, the bottom, the middle?"

"You just... you just  _eat_  it."

"Well  _I_  don't, so drink."

Belgium sighed and did so. "You're astounding. Germany, go."

"I don't really understand the point of these games," he muttered. "How is getting to drink the beer punishment for losing? I feel as if winning should mean you get to drink--"

"Just go, please; we can argue that another time."

"Yes, yes... Never have I ever gotten into a fight with my brother over shellfish."

"Touche." Belgium drank. Was it just her, or was her kitchen getting fuzzy-looking? Just around the edges wherever she looked? "Never have I ever owned a pet."

For some reason, out of the three of them, Germany seemed to be perfectly fine as he threw back another swig. Bastard always lasted the longest. "Gilbert... You're not drinking."

"Eh? So?"

Belgium grit her teeth and prayed for more patience--God help her if she had to explain the rules of the game to Prussia for the sixth time that night. "Did you forget about your bird? The little yellow thing that insists on taking a crap on my papers at every world meeting?"

"She's not a pet! She's a confidant!"

"She's an animal; drink your beer, it counts."

"Fine! In that case, never have I ever worn heels!"

Belgium glanced down at her black high heels and sighed. As she lifted her bottle, from the corner of her eye she saw Germany take a minuscule sip from his own. "...did... did you just... drink?"

Prussia cackled.

"I did." Germany stared pointedly at the refrigerator, face red.

So much for the aforementioned common decency. "Uh, do you mind if I ask--"

"I was in Milan, and I do not wish to speak on it further."

Prussia fucking  _howled_.

"M-maybe we should play a new game."

"Wonderful." Germany was up from the table in an instant. "I'll get the cards."

  
 **On a Thursday with Augustijn Grand Cru**

Prussia's calloused hands guided her thighs apart as she sat on the table, legs dangling by his shoulders. Even through the haze of the evening, Belgium could still feel every rough finger, his soft tongue and sharp teeth as Prussia licked a path up her thigh and pushed her dress away. He was following Belgium's orders nicely--precisely, this time--working his teeth into her panties--a cute lacy pair, a gift from Hungary--and tugging them away. Belgium lifted her hips from the table and watched Prussia work them down her legs, past her toes until he sat on her kitchen floor with them hanging from his mouth, waiting. "Thank you, Prussia." She smiled languidly, blissfully, watching as he dropped the cloth from his teeth.

A line of careful kisses trailed back up Belgium's legs--starting at an ankle, over the calf, past a knee and up a thigh--until finally Prussia pushed back the folds of the dress and kissed her between her legs. Belgium shuddered as the tongue went to work--hot, licking, soft, _wonderful_ \--the table shaking when she did so. An empty bottle of Grand Cru rolled off of it, only to be caught in deft fingers before it could tumble and shatter into a million pieces upon the kitchen floor.

Belgium glanced behind her, trying not to melt from the heat spreading throughout her body. "You're just going to watch?" She sucked in a harsh breath as Prussia's tongue sped up its strokes, his mouth warm and wet and blissfully silent for once.

Gingerly, Germany set the empty bottle back on the table, not moving from his seat. "Apparently someone has to."

Her laugh turned into a moan when Prussia's fingers joined his tongue.

  
 **On a Saturday with Duvel**

Belgium's card was protruding from her hair ribbon, Germany's licked and stuck to his forehead, and Prussia's shredded into pieces on the table when he'd guessed correctly that he'd been labeled as Austria.

"Do I... have a drinking problem?"

"Yes," Prussia snickered. "I'd say losing your clothes the more you drink counts as a drinking problem."

"Shh--only answer his questions, or else you'll give too much away. Whoever guesses in the least amount of questions doesn't have to drink," Belgium reminded him patiently.

"Pfft, in that case my first question should have been if I was a big piano-playing queer."

Pointedly ignoring that, Germany sallied forth to his next question: "Do I live on an island?"

"Yes," both Belgium and Prussia replied in unison.

"Is ice cream my secret weakness?"

"No."

"Not ice cream, but more like France's di--"

"Prussia! Shh!"

Germany clasped his chin thoughtfully. "Do I have eyebrows the size of large caterpillars?"

"That you do."

"And I'm not one of China's siblings, correct?"

"Nope."

"Ah, I have it: England's name is written on my card. I am England."

Both Belgium and Prussia grinned triumphantly: "Nope!"

"What?" Germany frowned, fingers inches away from pulling the card from his forehead. "Island, excessive drinking and clothing loss, big eyebrows, definitely not Hong Kong or Cuba, France's di-- ...I am Scotland, aren't I?"

"Yes! Way to go, West!"

"Alright, that was five questions plus a five point penalty for a wrong guess." Belgium made a note of it on her paper. "My turn! Let's see... am I a woman?"

"No."

"And, being a man, am I the bane of the lovely Belgium's existence?"

Both Prussia and Germany glanced at one another. "...yes."

"Netherlands. Please finish your drinks."

"Damn it, West! I told you she would get that too fast!"

"Just drink, Gilbert," Germany muttered, lifting the stein to his lips.

"Don't worry boys; there's always the next round."

 **On a Sunday with Stella Artois**

Belgium was riding Prussia on her kitchen floor, the folds of her dress shifting and fluttering each time she rose and fell, trying to angle her hips to hit that one spot perfectly, shuddering around Prussia's length with every thrust. He was quiet again, biting his tongue, hands clutching at Belgium's knees as she fucked herself on his dick. The world around them was just a little, a little off center, so Belgium’s hands dug into Prussia’s skin for purchase. She had told him to keep his mouth shut for once--Belgium was a mean drunk, at least she'd always thought so--and lie there like a good boy and allow her to work the stress of a rough day from her body. Up and down, up and down, the tiled floor chilly on her legs while the rest of her body burned hot, something lovely and warm seeping around Prussia's dick as she rode him hard into the floor. It would be wonderful if he had bruises on his back the next day, absolutely wonderful.

Somewhere behind her she heard, through the pounding in her heart and head, wood scraping against tile--a chair moving against her floor. But Belgium didn't stop, didn't break her stare into Prussia's eyes--they were daring one another to look away first--and although he was silent he had that damned smirk across his face. Even when a large hand touched her bare collar bone, Belgium kept looking down, kept reveling each time Prussia bit back a moan and his muscles twitched beneath her.

The hand ghosted across her chest, her neck, her skin prickling as deft fingers slipped the straps of her dress down to her elbows. And Belgium kept riding, kept angling her hips and thighs perfectly to make Prussia squirm with wanton desire, but for all the world she could not ignore that hand pushing aside her blond locks. Nor could she ignore the kisses--gentle and fleeting--on the back of her neck, like a soft knock upon a door, a stranger asking for entrance.

Finally she let a moan slip free, Prussia's smirk widening as he watched with a bold fascination, still keeping his hands on her knees, nails cutting little crescent moons into Belgium's skin. The hand was joined by another, sliding across Belgium's skin slowly to push her dress low, cupping her naked breasts gently before rolling a nipple between thumb and forefinger. Belgium gasped--damn that smirk on Prussia's face!--and as the kisses started with a new fervor she rode Prussia's length harder out of principle until finally--finally!--she saw his face crack and he was lifting up his hips desperately to fuck her, snarling when he came.

Belgium couldn't help but let a small shiver of laughter escape--she was such a mean drunk, it was embarrassing!--as she realized that she had outlasted Prussia. But her laughter transformed into moans of pleasure, those hands upon her breasts warm and just perfect. Delicately, Belgium lifted herself free of Prussia’s body, finally glancing behind her. “S-so you’ve tired of watching, I take it?”

Germany kissed the pulse in her neck tenderly, helping Belgium untangle her limbs from Prussia's. “I have.” Slowly, he guided her up from the floor, arm about her waist so she wouldn’t stumble. “May I?”

And she must be really drunk, Belgium decided, to just laugh and kiss those stoic lips. “Such a polite German--how can I refuse?”

Gently, Germany bent her over the kitchen table and took her as Prussia helped himself to another beer on the floor. Belgium, though maybe she shouldn’t have been, was surprised when he whispered kind words into her ear as he fucked her, the table scraping against the tile floor. Something hot coiled in Belgium’s abdomen then, something terribly wonderful, and she bit the back of her hand to keep from yelling out in sheer pleasure.

Dimly in the back of her mind, Belgium wondered how drunk any of them were really, and how much they were just fooling themselves instead.

 **On a Monday with Jupiler**

Belgium glanced between the two men, one still hungover from the last two nights, the other just mortified beyond words and direct eye contact. But the fact that either of them had responded to her invitation spoke volumes. "So... What game do you want to play tonight?"

"I have a suggestion," Germany said between grit teeth, rubbing at his temples furiously. "How about we play 'Drink the Beer'."

"How do you play that," Prussia asked, cocking his head to the side, wincing as he did so.

"You drink your damned beer."

"And... if we win the game?"

"You get up from your chair and get yourself another beer from the refrigerator."

"I think I could do well at that, West."

"I'll beat both of you to a pulp," Belgium said with a soft snort, pouring herself a healthy helping of Jupiler. " _Prost_."

**Author's Note:**

> Parts of this fic shamefully taken from It's Always Sunny, Inglorious Basterds, and Family Guy.
> 
> Drink the Beer is my favorite game, but the others are fun too.
> 
> Belgium's argument with Netherlands over shellfish: http://www.telegraph.co.uk/news/worldnews/europe/belgium/6062679/Belgians-urged-to-boycott-Dutch-mussels-in-port-row.html


End file.
